


beneath the skin

by cassanabaratheon



Category: Mercy Street (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-09-23 15:54:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9664337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassanabaratheon/pseuds/cassanabaratheon
Summary: He had her attention now; her frown gone as she merely watched him under her lashes as his eyes moved over her face. She felt self-conscious being the subject of his scrutiny and yet his touch was soft and loosened the stiffness from her shoulders. He circled the outside of her lips and murmured, “Orbicularis oris.” Then a finger swept up over her left cheekbone. “Zygomaticus major; that makes you smile, you know.”And, despite herself, she did.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first dip in writing for this fandom and I could not get this scene (2x02) about the learning the muscles of the face and jaw out of my mind hence the fic :)

It took all of her control to suppress her instinct to cry out or thump him over the head as he suddenly grabbed her arm and pulled her into a dark alcove, out of sight from any inquisitive eyes that might be around. The night-time lull had finally settled over Mansion House with just the deep snores and occasional whimpers of the men in their sleep, hushed gently by the sisters on night duty who, perhaps, would not be as shocked as they would be disapproving if they did see them like this. The others had already retired or were occupied elsewhere in the building and she was longing to turn in herself, to shut her eyes on the trying day which had seen three men, boys more like it, dead and two that might make it through the night but probably not the end of the week.

She was utterly exhausted; a dull ache at the back of her skull, the balls of her feet and what she was sure was a rather large and ugly bruise forming on her top outer thigh from a tussle with a delirious patient. In truth, she wanted a long, hot bath but that was a far cry away so the next best thing would be to lie down, to finally unhook herself from her corset, to yank her stockings off and to pull the pins free from her hair.

So, whilst being whisked into a secret corner for an illicit dalliance with, well, her lover, she supposed (though the term did not seem to encompass all that they were), might have awakened some more amorous feelings, tonight was not the night and Anne only felt a fierce wave of irritation towards him.

“What on earth do you think you are doing?” she hissed quietly should anyone hear them, glaring up at him. The space was truly not wide enough to keep them at a respectable distance, meaning he was barely a foot away and her skirts brushed his legs when she moved. He reached out to press his hand against her upper arm, lightly but enough to tell her to stay. “I am not in the mood, Byron,” she warned but he shrugged off her annoyance.

“Just wait,” he told her, holding her gaze for a long moment which ended with her letting out a suffering sigh, rolling her eyes and slumping against the wall. He smiled a little at the small victory and her eyes narrowed.

“What are-”

“Quiet,” he spoke over her and even as she opened her mouth to protest, his hands came up and carefully, he rested his fingertips just under her jaw. She stilled, body tensing at the touch and she looked at him questioningly though, damn man, he gave nothing away. He could feel her pulse thud strong beneath soft, pale skin and stopped himself from letting his fingers drift over the curve of her throat.

“I am not unwell,” she said sardonically and this time he shot her an exasperated scowl.

“Platysma,” he told her and she blinked, a frown forming on her face. But before she could question him, he moved up onto her chin. “Mentalis,” he inched his fingers out a little whilst he shifted a little closer. “Depressor labii inferioris.”

He had her attention now; her frown gone as she merely watched him under her lashes as his eyes moved over her face. She felt self-conscious being the subject of his scrutiny and yet his touch was soft and loosened the stiffness from her shoulders. He circled the outside of her lips and murmured, “Orbicularis oris.” Then a finger swept up over her left cheekbone. “Zygomaticus major; that makes you smile, you know.”

And, despite herself, she did.

Anne’s eyes fluttered shut as he continued to map out the muscles of her face, his low-tones lulling her so that the aggravation she had felt, all of it with the men, the deaths and pain, ebbed away with every stroke. It was strange; he knew her body well, the parts where her skin was most sensitive, where it tickled, the freckles and where a scar from her childhood formed and yet, here in this moment, she felt quite exposed, him knowing what was under her skin.

When he finished, lowering his hands to his sides, she slowly raised her eyes to his and neither spoke for a time. At some point, though she had not been aware of it then, his knee had pressed against her thigh. Not demanding but rather intimate all the same. One of her hands was clutching onto his surgeons' overcoat and she blinked, letting it go, swallowing and wetting her lips as she did.

“I see you have learnt what I asked,” Anne said eventually, her voice quiet and warm. “But it is late and I wish to sleep.”

He signed a little as she gently pressed her hands against his chest to move him back and he could feel the heat of her palms even through the layers of fabric. She half-stepped away from him before turning her head back, tilted in consideration. “I will leave the door slightly ajar. To sleep only,” she added in warning as a smile had broken out on his face. She did not wait for his reply but she knew he would come to her.  He always did.

 


End file.
